Writing Feedback / 'The Wishing Chair' - a story on my worst experiance [3]

My worst experience.

'The Wishing Chair'

It started a day like many other. It was around sunset and as per routine I had just finished being bathed by my maid Maria, an often rough but motherly figure. She had just finished fitting me into my new baby pink bathrobe, the sting of the rough facecloth still tingling on my delicate, youthful face. I must have been around 9 years old at the time, my mother entered my room and asked if we could take a walk up to the lemon tree in my garden, she often took me there and read me stories such as 'The Wishing Chair', this was a place of retreat. With enthusiasm I clasped my small, fragile hand into hers and proceeded to walk up the hill journeying towards the lemon tree. She usually would relent to my demands and start narrating the story as we were walking, however this time she remained silent and almost solemn and so I waited patiently, I waited to hear the story of 'The Wishing Chair'. And when my eyes looked up at hers expectantly they did not meet mine,but instead a solid voice 'Gabby, there's something I have to tell you'. I did not reply, instead I held my gaze, still... expectant. 'Your father and I, were getting divorced' I stared at her numbly, I knew what that word meant, it was the word that the people my mother took me and my younger sister to see whispered. The people who asked me question upon question about my life, the people I detested and held such great hatred towards. It was the forbidden word, and it somehow landed within my palm. I knew it had something to do with my mom and dad fighting, and how I had to take my sister into my room and tell her stories, sometimes even 'The Wishing Chair', the people always asked me about that. Without knowing the true meaning of that word 'divorce', the significance it held outweighed any definition you could name. The feeling it gave me, the cold atmosphere it produced. And so I dropped my hand and ran, I ran as fast as I could out of the iron gates enclosing my home, I ran, and with only the hope a child could have, I ran and searched for a wishing chair.